The Wind and the Rain
by KatePryde
Summary: A brother and a sister, who think each other dead. And because of this misfortune, havok rained upon their heads.
1. Chapter 1

_If music be the food of love, play on, _

_Give me excess of it_

_~Orsino~_

_Twelfth Night_

_Act One_

_Scene I_

A girl-no, a woman-stood under a mountain, clad in nothing but a nightdress. Her eyes roamed the sea that crashed into the rocks bedside her, staring over the bleak expanse to take in the wreck of the ship that she had been sailing on. She was not alone, however. The other survivors stood with her.

"It is a miracle that we have survived." a man stated.

"Is it?" the woman asked. "Or is it a curse?"

"Miss," he replied, "We are alive when in truth, that storm should have killed us all. How can you ask if we are cursed?"

"What is life if there is nothing in it to live for?" she queried. "With this accident, I have lost everything that I held dear. My mother died in child birth, my father by a fever, and now the only thing I had left in the world, my brother, is carried away from me by the sea." she paused, turning to look the man dead in the eye.

"I wish you had not saved me, Captain." her voice was colder than ice.

While the surviving crew and passengers stared at her in stunned silence, she stepped away from the cliff edge, and turned to look at the rolling country-side that stretched behind the water-logged party.

Her voice rose, "Does anybody know what country we have landed ourselves in?"

"Aye, madam." the Captain replied. "This, fair lady, is Illyria."

"And what shall I do in Illyria? My brother has left me for heaven."

Though she knew that he had to have perished, she still asked with a slight tone of hope in her voice, "Perchance he did not drown, sailors, what is your opinion?"

"It was only by a chance that you were saved, madam." a helmsmen answered her plea.

Her eyes filled with tears that, even though she knew would bring her release, she would not shed. The other survivors were determined to search the wreckage that was washing up on shore, hoping to find their possessions among them, and enough supplies to sustain them until they happened upon a town. She did not go with them as they dispersed, nor did the Captain. He stood with the almost-weeping maid, having made up his mind to not leave her alone. A second later, his coat was off and draped around her shoulders.

"I do not pretend to understand your grief," he said quietly, "But I think that I can lighten your heart a little. Minutes after your brother shoved you into my arms and into the life-boat, I saw him bind himself to the mast. Because of the strength of the wood, he and the mast floated for a good long while, until I could no loner see them in the distance. It was then we washed up on shore.

She did not respond for a long while, fearing if she did so her voice would break and her eyes would spill over. Only when she was once again in control of herself did she respond,"I thank you for the hope you have given me sir. Here," she reached down the front of her nightgown and pulling out a small pouch filled with coin, "a reward for you."

As joyous as the news was to her, she did not allow herself to hope even in the slightest. She feared that she would break if she did.

The captain put his hand on top of hers and pushed the pouch back to her.

"I will not take your money, madam." he whispered harshly. "Especially not now, when you have need of it most."

Taking in his expression of stubbornness, she simply nodded in compliance and stowed the money back in the place from which it had come.

Straightening herself slightly, the woman pulled the coat tighter around her shoulders as a cold wind blew. "Sir," she inquired of the Captain, "Do you know this country?"

"Aye," was his reply, "For I was bred and born here."

"Who is the ruler?"

"A duke, madam, who is honorable and fair in all qualities."

"And what is the name of this noble duke?" she asked, a teasing lilt to her voice.

"Orsino."

Her eyes lit up in remembrance. "Orsino! Of course, how could I forget? I have heard my father speak of him often while we were home in Messaline. Both he and Orsino's father were great friends once, and remained so until their deaths. Why, I have even met the duke once or twice, while he was a youth and I nothing but a girl." She looked down at herself ruefully. "I doubt he would remember me now. He was a bachelor then, is he still unmarried?"

"You looking for a husband now, lass?" The Captain asked good-naturedly, and then laughed as the woman pretended to gag. "You don't have to worry about that, he is still not married. Although, when I last traveled to visit my sister, who lives on his land, the rumor was that he sought the love of the fair Olivia."

"And who is she?" the woman asked curiously.

"A maiden who is the daughter of a local count." He paused, looking at her with a hint of woe in his eyes. "She is much like you, madam, for her father died but a year ago. He left her in the care of her elder brother, who has also recently died. Hunting accidents, the both of them. Terrible tragedy it was. And ever since the last funeral, it is said that she actively avoids the company of men outside those under her employ."

The woman's eyes lit up, "Oh, I wish that I could meet that lady and offer her my services as a maid. I would welcome the type of solitude that she offers."

"That is not likely to happen." the Captain warned, "As it is not just male company that she refuses. She has also barred her doors to any visitors that may wish to darken them, and continuously turns away all those who seek entrance, regardless of their gender. She is very much turned from the world in her grief."

"I understand her reasoning." the woman said quietly, "I wish that I had fortune enough that I could do the same. But alas, though my father was a nobleman, he was not a business man. My brother and I were left but a small sum from his creditors."

The captain studied the girl. She couldn't be no more than seventeen, and yet the weight of the world rested on her shoulders. With no means to support herself, he knew that she would soon starve or be reduced to begging. He reached out suddenly and grasped her shoulders.

"If I know my geography of this land, my sister's house is not a days walk from here. I offer you a room and a seat at her table for as long as you need it." He spoke earnestly, and his voice resonated with truth. But still...

"Your sister will not mind an unexpected guest?"

He shook his head. "Anna is a widow who lives comfortably on an inheritance from both our father and her husband. She only has two children, and runs a boarding house. An extra mouth will not be noticed."

"You are certain, Sir?" she pressed.

"I give you my word as an Illyrian, whatever that may mean to you."

She grasped his hands which still rested on her shoulders. "You have saved my life. You have my trust."

Turning, they said their goodbyes to the other survivors and began to make their way up the low mountain. Although she felt she shouldn't, the woman turned back. Reaching to the necklace that had been a gift from her father on her last birthday, she quickly unclasped it, pressed a kiss to it, and cast it out to the waves. The sunlight that reflected off of it shone in her eyes for a moment, and then it was gone. And so was she.

One week. That's all it took before she cracked. It wasn't that she wasn't grateful, for she was. And it wasn't that she was completely unhappy, because even with the tragedies that had befallen her she kept a smile on her face. Anna's two children never failed to make her laugh, however small, and she had food aplenty and a roof over her head. She was grieving, yes, but content.

However, one thing that drove her mad was that Anna and Hans (as she learned this was the Captain's name) refused any and all payment she felt that she owed them for keeping her there. They argued that she assisted in the keeping of the house and all it's residents, and in truth she did help cook and clean, as much as she was able. But, in her past life she had been a noblewoman, and as such she was somewhat (not all for her mother-figure growing up was the Cook) unaccustomed to housework.

But no matter in what form she paid them, she was not content with the amount. Nor was she content in the fact that she was practically living in a stasis, neither going forward or back. As happy as she was to stay with the Captain and his family, she knew that she could not remain there forever.

But the alternative that she proposed nearly gave Hans a few more gray hairs than his nephews and his occupation had already gifted him.

"P-please," he stuttered out, as Anna gaped at her from beside him. "Say that again. I think that my ears stopped working once you opened your mouth."

She smirked at them. It was evening, and they were all cleaning the kitchen while the boys and the boarders went to bed. Anna and Hans were washing dishes from the evening meal while she swept the floors clean. Her statement had frozen them both.

"I said that I am going to disguise myself as a man and ask for a position in Orsino's courts. As a scribe or perhaps a bard." she paused, gleefully taking the pair in, "You think that I am mad, do you not?"

Anna somehow found her voice. "Aye, lass, that we do. What made ye think of such a hair-brained scheme?"

The woman grew visibly more somber than she had been a minute before. "I have no great skills that would tempt any honest man to employ me, and as for the dishonest ones who would," she grimaced, "I would never enter that type of work. My father and brother would roll over in the graves. The only skills that I have are those suited under the employment of a noblewoman, yet the only one currently living in these lands is not seeking help.

"But I heard word in the market place today that Orsino is. And so, I shall put on my brother's clothes and be a scholar to him."

The brother and sister were still gaping in shock. "Madam," the Captain spoke softly, in fear of waking those in the above chambers, "Did you not tell me that you knew this man when you were younger? Why not simply entreat him for a place to stay if that is what you so desire."

She set down the broom. "You have made it very clear to me that I have a home here, and for that I am eternally indebted to you." she stepped over to them and took both their hands. "But I am an independent woman," she continued passionately, "And while a home is a good thing to have, I also desire a means of supporting myself. As I said, a woman of m skills cannot get honest work here in this place, unless they already own it, as you do Anna. But a man has many more options at his fingertips.

"So, for the time being, I will be a man. Will you give me aid?"

Hans let out a peal of deep laughter, causing both women to look at him in concern. Anna placed her free hand on his back and gave it several thumps in the hope that he would regain his senses. A few moments later, wiping tears from his eyes he looked the woman dead in the face.

"Even if I refuse to help you, I know that you will attempt this anyway. I'd rather it be under my eye than away from it." Ignoring Anna's gasp of protest, he continued on, "Come girl, let's make you into a man."

Her eyes full of gratitude that she knew not how to express, she simply settled for raising up on her toes and pressing her lips to his cheek. He released her hand, and raising his to her head gently drew it through her hair like a brush. Eying the mass in his palm critically her nodded to himself. "This will have to go." he stated firmly. "All of it." Her pained whimper echoed through the halls.


	2. Chapter 2

A man stumbled drunkenly through a door that entered into the kitchen of a great house, that once was bright but not was strewn with black in a sign of morning. He was greeted by a small, round woman clad in a dressing-gown and with a stern look of disapproval marring her otherwise decent features. Bottle in hand, he took a swig of the contents as he looked around at the décor.

"Mariah, what is my niece thinking, carrying about like she is? Her brother is dead to be sure, but mourning him thus, casting off all company and desiring no light is foolhardy." Another swig, "She should be celebrating his life! He called out.

Mariah was quick to shush him. "By God," she whispered, "Sir Toby you must come in earlier in the evenings, you worry your niece, my mistress so."

Again, he drank, "She should be worrying after herself, not me."

"You are all the family she has left, sir, she does right to worry. The drinking and the company that you keep will be your downfall and your death."

"Just to spite you for saying that, wench, I'll make it my life's purpose to drink and to outlive all you creatures while doing it!" Before he could swill the cured liquid again Mariah relieved him of the bottle.

Ignoring his stunned shout, she quickly locked it in a nearby cabinet before tucking the key in her bosom.

"Honestly, my lord, Olivia despairs of you and that man you brought here to be her wooer."

"What?" he questioned "She does not like Sir Andrew Auguecheek?"

"No my lord, she does not. She thinks him a fool."

"Why, he is as good as any man in Illyria, better even!"

"And what makes you say that, my lord?"

"His salary is three-thousand pound a year."

"Indeed?" Mariah asked coyly, pulling out two chairs at a nearby table and taking a seat in one of them. Toby took the other. "Why," she continued, "His annual salary will all be spent in the year he has it, for it is easy to see that he is very foolish with his money."

"And what makes you say that, wench?" Toby demanded.

"He keeps friends with you!" She cried, full of mirth. Toby grimanced.

"Whatever your grievenences against him, I say he is a perfect match for my niece!" he boasted.

"Oh?" Mariah quiried.

"Aye!" Toby cried, "Why, he is very educated in music, speaks several languages, looks very handsome, and is close to her in age. Meanwhile, that duke that pines after her is ten years her senior, being nearly thirty. In conclusion, Andrew is a much better match."

"The man, as I have said, is a fool. He also is without any title. Olivia would never marry below her station." Mariah said imperiously.

"He's a noblemen at least, they are not that separated." Toby bit back. He happened to glance out the window, and what he saw there standing outside of it made his face light up in joy. "You have to but speak of the devil, and he shall appear!" he bellowed, while Mariah made to hush him.

Glancing through the window herself, Mariah did indeed behold the very man that they had been quarreling about for the past ten minutes. Being the only servant of the three, she hastened to open the door for him.

The man bounced, quiet literally bounced, through the door. It was very obvious that he, like Sir Toby, had been at the bottle for God knows how long. Mariah winced at the sight of another drunk man, and sent up a silent prayer begging that the two men together would not make enough noise to wake up the whole household.

"Why, Sir Toby Belch!" Andrew exclaimed, "How are you today, Sir Toby Belch?"

The man he had addressed rose from his seat to clasp him on the back. "Good Sir Andrew, I am as well as I was when I left you at the tavern not an hour ago!"

Andrew giggled-yes, _giggled_. "Oh, I am so forgetful when I have been at the wine." He took noticed of Mariah, who, while she was a servant, she was also a lady. He gave her a short, bobbing bow. "Bless you, fair shrew."

Mariah resisted the urge to glare at him. "And you," she replied quietly, "kind sir. You are welcome in my lady's house." Her tone spoke of how he was anything but welcome, but thankfully Andrew was far too drunk enough to notice.

Toby leaned over to whisper in Andrew's ear. "Address her, Andrew, address!" He shoved his arm around the thinner man's shoulders, and flashed a slight smile at Mariah, who narrowed her eyes at him.

"Who's that?" Andrew asked stupidly, glancing at Mariah again.

"My niece's chambermaid. Address, I say!" Toby hissed.

Andrew threw off Toby's arm and stepped in front of the woman. Taking her hand, he bowed over it saying, "Good Mistress Address, I would like to know you better."

Mariah steeled herself from snapping at him. "My name is Mariah, sir."

Andrew took this correction in stride. "Good Mistress Mariah Address-"

"No Andrew!" Toby cut him off, "I mean address her as in speak to her, assial her, woo her! Address is not her name!"

Mariah rolled her eyes, and caught sight of the nearby clock. Shaking her hand out of the sweaty palm of Sir Andrew, she curtsied to both gentlemen. "Fare you well, masters." she said as she straightened. "I take my leave of you both." Anyone with a brain could tell that she strongly desired to leave, as she practically ran out of the room, but Andrew Auguecheek had no brain to speak of, and Toby was drunk enough that his was half gone. They both bowed to her as she passed through the hall-door, and walked out of sight.

At her leaving, Andrew sighed pathetically and sat in the chair that she had earlier vacated. Toby, even through his stupor, noticed that the man was clearly not in the spirits he had pretended to be in when other company is present.

"What's this then?" he asked as he placed a hand on Andrews thin shoulders, "I do not remember a time when I have seen you this melancholy before."

"Oh good Sir Toby," Andrew cried pitifully, as he buried his head in his hands, "There are times when I think that I have no more wit or brains than those of a Christian or an ordinary man. But I do eat a great deal of beef, yet I do not think that it harms my wit."

"Indeed?" Toby queried as he attempted not to laugh.

"Indeed." Andrew agreed. "Which is why I have determined to go home tomorrow."

"Why, my dear man?"

"Your niece will never see me," he whined, "and even if she did, it is more likely that she will wed the duke who continues to woo her instead of me."

"She'll not marry the count." Toby replied decidedly. "She will not marry any one who is that much older than she, nor will she ever marry anyone above her station. Andrew," he shook the man slightly, "there is still hope for you yet."

At this statement, the young man's head popped up, and anyone with eyes could see that he was in a far better temper than he had been in mere moments ago. "Why then, I shall stay a month longer! I am a man of a strange mind, it always changes."

"There's the ticket!" Toby bellowed, slapping Andrew on the back. "Now, let's see if we can't open some of these cupboards and toast to your decision, ay?" The fool was quick to agree.


	3. Chapter 3

_I think his soul is in hell, madonna._

_I know his soul is in heaven, fool._

_The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother's_

_soul being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen._

_~Feste &amp; Olivia~_

_Twelfth Night_

_Act One_

_Scene V_

"Are you yet determined that you are going to do this?"

"Yes, Hans, now give Anna the scissors. I do not trust you with them."

The three were once again in the kitchen, only instead of cleaning they were preparing the woman for her new role. Hans had made a few more attempts at talking her out of this scheme, though he knew they would do no good. This was the last attempt, he vowed. I am done.

She was seated before him with a towel strung around her shoulders. Anna was standing directly behind her, hand held out to receive the scissors. Nothing about this scene of a woman cutting hair would have been odd, if the person whose hair she was cutting was not clothed in garments that were clearly not meant for her gender.

The two siblings had dug through the attic earlier, trying to supply the woman with what articles of clothes they knew she needed and yet didn't have. But most of what she wore now had been her brothers, saved from the wreckage. Anna had assisted her in binding her breasts, and now, clad as she was in trousers, a blouse, and an overcoat, no one could tell that she was not a youth. Well, once the hair was cut off they would not be able to tell.

The brown locks that currently tumbled down her back framed her face and gave every indication that she was female even with the lack of chest. Until it was gone, no one would be fooled. Sighing, Hans placed the blades onto his sisters palm, and watched as she cut off the woman's hair.

To her credit, although she looked as if she might cry at any given moment, the woman did not shed a single tear as lock after lock floated past her shoulders to land gentle on the floor. Mercifully, Anna worked quickly and it was all soon over. Hans viewed his sisters handy-work with a critical eye, as the object of it brushed stray strands off of her and stood.

"If I did not know who you were, I would not have known that you were a woman."

She smiled. "My mother was a gypsy," she explained, "Preforming and acting is in my blood."

"Are you ready to do this? You truly have no family to take you in?"

"As I said, my mother was a gypsy. My father was looked down upon because of his marriage to her, and nearly all his relatives shunned us. The only one who didn't was an uncle who made his fortunes in Messina, yet we heard just before we left that his daughter had died, so we did not care to intrude upon him in his greif. We were by no means poor, but my brother sold our fathers estate. We were going to sail to Italy, to visit my mother's goddaughter Portia when the storm hit. In truth, sir, this is the only way that I can make enough to continue on that voyage."

Hans nodded gravely. "Well, let us be off then. The duke has court this afternoon, which will be the perfect time to present you to him." He leaned over and pressed a kiss to his sister's cheek. Anna was currently sweeping up the fallen hair, and she smiled at the both of them as they walked to the door.

"Wait!" she called out suddenly. They paused. "Have you thought of what your name will be?" she asked the woman.

"Yes." she replied after a brief pause. "While I am a man, you may call me Cesario."

He burned. That was all Sebastian of Messaline knew, the heat that he could not escape from. On occasion, he heard voices, one, maybe two. But neither of them were the ones that he wanted to hear. Nor could he discover the location of said unspoken voice, for the ones that he knew spoke in such low tones he could not make anything out.

Someone was lifting up his head, and pouring a warm broth down his throat. The sudden flow of liquid brought some clarity to his mind, and removed the dryness from his throat. "Sister?" he asked. There was no reply, so he tried again. "Sister?"

"I am sorry," someone answered. "Your sister is not here."

Sebastian heaved, and coughed. "W-where?" was all he could manage to say.

A pause.

"I was only able to save you from the shipwreck, sir. I doubt that your sister survived."

The speaker covered his ears a moment later, as the man he was supporting on the only bed in the room let out the most inhuman cry ever heard. He was so loud that the children playing in the next street over heard him, and were afraid. People in the street paused, and wondered at what could make such a sound. But Sebastian did not care. When he ran out of air to support his wordless shout, he collapsed back and sank into blissful darkness.

It had worked. Cesario and Hans had made their way into the court of the Duke Orsino, where the Captain had presented the girl-dressed-as-boy. After some questioning by persons already employed by his Lordship, Cesario presented herself to him.

He requested that she sing. She did. He asked her to play the piano-forte, and she demonstrated her skills in that as well. Ordering one of his men to bring him a sword, he attacked her suddenly. Her father had scene fit to educate his daughter alongside his son in many subject, swordplay being one of them. Orsino won the impromptu match, but only because his age and years practicing were far more than hers.

Suitably impressed, he employed her as his valet. Cesario bid farewell to Hans, and stepped into her new role with ease.

Mariah opened the window to tell whoever was below it to hush. They were disturbing her grieving lady with happy music. Upon seeing who it was, however, a smile lit her face and she practically flew outside to stand before the imposing figure.

"Feste!" she cried. "You have come home to us at last!"

"Aye, sister," replied the man, "I would have been here sooner if it hadn't been for the storms across the sea delaying my journey."

Mariah looked her younger brother over with a critical eye. Feste the jester, the fool, was the tallest man in Illyria, there was no doubt of that. In a crowd, he stood nearly a head higher than everyone else. He was a well-built man, hardy from many years of labor and travel. A dusty traveler's cloak covered his broad shoulders, and his boots were in need of a good cleaning, but he appeared to be in good health.

The lady's face grew somewhat somber. "You did not make it back in time to attend the funeral rights. Lady Olivia is so furious with you, brother, I fear she shall hang you when she sees you."

"It's just as well," he replied, "For many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage."

She blushed. "You are resolved to stay then?"

"I am resolved in two things, that being one of them."

"Where did you go while you were away, brother?"

"Here, and there. Wherever I could find work that was far away from the cursed steward. Tell me, is he still employed to her?"

"Aye," Mariah informed him, "And that is why I say Olivia will hang you. There is no lost love between you and the steward, and he has grown ever closer to my Lady with her father's death. She clings to him as if to a rock in a storm, determined that he will hold her up. And he does."

Feste drew his sister into an embrace. He, who had known her nearly all her life, could tell that she was feeling many things over this affair with Olivia. But most of all, she was worried. And when Mariah worried, she worried herself sick.

"Think no more of this." he told her as he pulled back. She through the gap between his arm and torso (she was no where near tall enough to reach his shoulder) and let out a small gasp.

"Speak of the devil and he shall appear." she stated, gesturing. Feste turned to see Olivia and the steward approaching them. "They must have wondered where I had gone," Mariah continued, "for I was sent out here to quiet you, and had not returned."

"Go flirt with Toby." Feste whispered in her ear, and ignored her cry of outrage, "And leave these two to me."

After glaring at him for a moment, she complied, flouncing off to the kitchen to located the man her brother had spoke of, all the while praying his companion was not with him.

As she left, Feste turned to the two who were now standing before him. He bowed low. "God bless thee, Lady!" he cried, taking her hand in his and pressing a kiss to it. Olivia yanked her palm from his grasp.

Turning to her steward, she said imperiously, "Take the fool away."

Malvolio reached for Feste, who darted away from his hands. "Did you not hear her correctly sir? She told you to take her away. As you are her servant, you must obey!"

"Fool," Olivia said, "I told him to take you away."

"You told him to take away the fool," he replied, "And the only true fool here is you. No," he said swiftly, holding up a hand to stop her protest, "Give me a but chance to prove it!"

She stared at him warily. "Can you do it?"

"Yes."

She and Malvolio shared a glance. "Proceed, Feste."

"Good madam, you wear black," Feste began, gesturing to her attire, "For whom do you mourn?"

"For my brother, fool, this you know."

"His soul is then in hell, madam."

**_Crack!_**

His face stung as she slapped him. "I know," she shouted, "that his soul is in heaven!"

"Which proves that you are a fool, for mourning a soul that is in heaven. Therefore, steward, take away the fool."

Olivia laughed slightly at this, her earlier temper quickly gone. "I had forgotten you in your absence."

"I did not think it was so easy to forget me, but I forgive you this one fault, if you shall forgive mine."

"I wonder," Malvolio said dryly, speaking for the first time, "that your lady should take delight in such a stupid rascal. Why, I have seen the likes of him put down by a boy who had no more brain than a stone. Look, even now unless you laugh and respond, he knows not what to say. He's gagged. A fool he is, though not a good one."

There would never be friendship between the jester and the steward.


	4. Chapter 4

_I'll do my best_

_To woo your lady:_

**_Aside_**

_yet, a barful strife!_

_Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife._

_~Cesario~_

_Act One_

_Scene IV_

"Cesario, if the duke continues to show you such favor, you are no doubt going to become very advanced in his court. Already he has known you but two short weeks and you are indeed no stranger." The maid bowed her head in acknowledgment of the steward, Valentine's words. It was indeed true.

The girl, in her mans garb, had made a great many friends in the court of Orsino. All the men in his employment liked the person because she was well educated, a great debater, and a capital swordsmaster. The women liked her because she was attractive in their eyes, and always had a kind word to say to them.

In conclusion, Cesario was well-loved. Most of all by the duke, who took the youth under his wing, and came to trust him within an hour of knowing him.

Currently, Cesario and Valentine were standing in the hallway, along with other members of Orsino's household. The others with them were listening closely to the conversation between the two men. (Or rather, a man and a woman, though they did not know this to be the case.) It was well known that until Cesario had graced the doorway, Valentine had been the good duke's favorite.

"You praise me to highly, friend." was the quiet response he received. (For indeed, everything about her was quiet these days.) "I would think," she continued in a teasing tone, "that in saying, 'if the duke continues his favor,' you are calling into question both my loyalty and his feeling. For it sound as if you are implying that in that 'if' you used that either I will do something that causes him to no longer care for me, or he will be fickle enough to cast me off for the next man in line."

They all shared a laugh at that one, Valentine clapping his companion on the back. Cesario held in a sigh of relief. It was now clear to her that the man held no jealousy or anger in his heart for her.

"May I ask, youth," Valentine said suddenly, "After your family? How do they feel about you being in the service of a duke when clearly by your stature and action you are of as noble blood as he?"

The girl paused, and the laughter died as everyone saw the pale tone of her cheeks. "I..." she began, then paused. It took a moment for her to become more visibly composed, but once she had a hold on herself she continued.

"All other members of my house have gone on before me. I think that they would have delighted in the knowledge that I have found good, honest work, and for a good, honest man."

Valentine would have replied, but was cut off by the opening of a door next to him. Orsino stepped forth. He was a regal man, whose appearance commanded the attention of anyone residing in whatever room he chose to enter. His height was much noted, for though he was not the tallest man in Illyria (For indeed, this man was Feste), he came close to being so.

His hair, closely cut to his head, was a rich brown that matched his eyes. Glad in the garments that he usually wore, trousers, an over-shirt, boots and cape, were all black. Only his undershirt was white. His face was somewhat handsome, being marred by a narrow scar that ran down his left eye. This was not his only fault, but it was the only one currently seen. He took in the crowd before him.

"Has anyone seen Cesario?" he asked, his voice a deep tenor. The person in question was on the other side of Valentine, and was thus shielded.

Valentine took her by the arm and pushed her in front of him. She stumbled slightly from the force of it, but soon recovered herself and bowed. "Your servant is here my lord."

Orsino glanced all around at the others with them. "You may go about your business," he said, "I have no special office for any of you today."

The crowd began to disperse, but Orsino held up his hand to stop Valentine rom leaving. "Ah,I nearly forgot. Please see to it that Cesario's horse is saddled. He has a small distance to travel today."

Valentine bowed his head in acknowledgment, and quickly followed the others out of the hall.

"Cesario," the duke continued once they were all gone, "You know everything about me, for indeed I have trusted you with everything. I have no secrets from you." The girl bit her cheek to avoid sowing guilt in his expression. "Therefore, here is the task I give you. Ride to her manor, and stand fast at her door. Do not allow them to deny you, but tell them there you shall stay until you meet with her."

Cesrio nodded, but looked uncertainly at him. "What is it lad?" he questioned.

"Surly my lord, if she is so grieving as people say, she never will admit me."

"Then ignore all rules of propriety and stay there until she sees you."

"And if I do see her, my lord, what will I then say?"

"Well then tell her of the passion of my love!" he cried in reply. "Surprise her with how great it is! Act as I would in your place, she would pay attention to you, for it is true that you are very attractive to women."

Cesario blushed as he threw an arm around her shoulder and began to take her outside. "I do not think it is so, my lord."

"Oh, my dear by, you should believe it! I have heard the maids talk of you, comparing your lips to those of a god. They also say that you appear much younger than the twenty-one years you claim to be. In all, they say you are a very handsome sight to behold, though I must confess," he said looking at her critically, "If I did not know you better, I would say that you are a woman and not a man."

Again, she had to any semblance suppress visible guilt.

"I think she would like to here this," he continued, showing her a piece of paper that he had drawn from his breast-pocket, "from you in place of me. It has been made apparent to me that she clearly does not like of my appearance."

Cesario stifled a laugh, and which the duke turned to her in amazement. "I do not think I have ever heard a person laugh at me before, youth." he stated.

"Perhaps because they fear you." was her reply.

"And you do not?"

"No." her answer was firm and resolved, and it made him pause to look at the truth in her eyes.

"It is not just I whom the servants gossip about, my lord. My ears are as swift as yours, and can hear as much. They do praise your appearance highly, although I must confess that I have never heard you likened to a woman as you have done to me." her tone was teasing, and it did what she intended. He smiled.

Cesario noticed that she was staring to closely at the man for polite comfort, and quickly bowed to him. "Sir, I shall do my best to woo your lady."

"That's the ticket!" he cried. "If you should succeed in this, then you shall live as freely as I do, and I will not deny you even a penny of my fortunes! But I am delaying you in your task, here comes Valentine with your horse."

She looked in the direction he was pointing and did indeed see the steward with her horse.

"Farewell, boy!" Orsino called over his shoulder as he made his way back into the house.

"Farewell." she replied as Valentine took the reigns from her. He gave her a leg-up into the saddle (and Valentine marveled at the fact that such a boy could be so small and slight) and she was off.

She looked back at the manor a few moments later when she was a safe distance away. "Aye my lord," she whispered, "I will woo your lady. But if you had better eyes, and would look closer, you would see a lady who, unlike the other, is willing to be wooed." Turning back, she rode off in silence.


	5. Chapter 5

A few hours after Cesario left the manor of the duke, Olivia and several members of her household (mainly Feste, Mariah, and Malvolio) were playing cards in the grandly built, but sparsely decorated drawing room. Olivia inquired after the state of her uncle, to which Mariah replied that he had gone into town that morn and not been seen since. No one spoke of how they all knew he was with the foolish Andrew, nor of how they were certain that they were both quite drunk by now.

Olivia laid down her cards, and the others quickly followed suit. "I no longer desire to play." she said sadly. "I fear I have lost interest in a great many things lately." Feste smiled slightly at her.

"I have no doubt," he said, "that over time you will desire to play cards again." Her lips quirked at this.

Just then, there was a crash outside the great window which looked upon the gate at the north end of the house, which also happened to be the main entrance. Standing quickly, Olivia threw open the window with the assistance of Mariah, and looked outside to behold her uncle lying on his back.

"Oh dear," she groaned. "He's drunk again before noon." she sighed, and then raised her voice, "What is it now, uncle, that makes you cause such havok at the gate?"

He looked up at her stupidly, eyes slightly crossed. "A gentlemen."

She looked at him in astonishment. "What gentlemen would make such noise?"

"A young knave by the looks of it." Toby said, though the company did not know if they should believe him or not. He looked to the left of Olivia, and saw the Feste. His eyes widened and a smile lit his face. "How are you Feste?" he bellowed, stumbling to his feet and swaying dangerously.

"Good Sir Toby," the fool replied, "I daresay that I am a right sight better than you."

"Uncle, why are you so drunk so early?" Olivia asked hopelessly in a tired tone.

"Drunk? Who's drunk?" was his reply, "I'll knock his head together, he who dares be drunk in mine niece's presence. Is it the youth at the gate?"

"Nay," Olivia cried in exasperation. "But who is he?"

"He could be the devil for all I care! It's all one to me." He stumbled a few more times as he made his way to the door of the kitchen, opening it with one loud BANG! and closing it with another.

Olivia sighed slightly and put her hand to her head, feeling a headache coming on. "Feste," she practically whispered. "My uncle is currently a madman thanks to his beloved drink. Please, look to him for me. Call him a doctor for when he comes out of his stupor."

The fool nodded to his mistress, and took his leave of the whole company. If he stuck out his tongue at Malvolio before climbing through the window (at which both Mariah and Olivia shook their heads in exasperation) and skipping across the courtyard, no one took notice.

Well, Malvolio noticed, but in truth no one currently cared for his opinion. And now that the cause of her trail was gone, Olivia could focus on the current task at hand. "Malvolio, see to the man at the gate, please." he bowed to her request and also left the room, though by the window in place of the door.

"What man do you think this is?" Mariah asked her mistress.

"No doubt he is another lad from Orsino, doomed to carry messages of love to me."

"What will your reply be to him?"

"Reply? Mariah, do not think I shall let the person beyond the gate."

With that, the two women sat down on the couch and picked up a bit of needlework they then focused themselves on. Mariah looked over at Olivia in slight concern, for Olivia had her lips pressed together tightly. She was about to ask her what was the matter, but Malvolio chose at that moment to enter.

"Madam," he began imperiously, "The fellow outside swears that he will speak with you. I told him you were sick, and yet he saw that it was a falsehood, and demanded to speak to you. I told him you were asleep, and yet again he knew I was lying, and demanded to speak to you.!" The last sentence grew louder until it was a shout. The steward paused to draw breath. "My Lady, what shall I say to this man?" he begged, "For he is ignoring all denials I give him."

Olivia and Mariah shared an astonished glance, both shocked at the impertinence of the stranger.

"You told him he would not speak with me?"

"Aye!" Malvolio exclaimed, "Yet he refuses to leave the house, and says he will stand at the door like a post until you give him entrance."

"What kind of man is he?" Olivia asked curiously.

"He is indeed one of Adam's sons."

"No, I mean what is his manner, his appearance? His years?"

"A very ill manner, for he continues to darken your doorstep. He is not yet old enough to be called man, and is not young enough to be called boy. His appearance is well favored, though I daresay were his hair any longer people would think him a woman."

Olivia sat in thought for a few minutes before replying. "Let him in."

"My Lady!"

"I said let him in, Malvolio! We shall once more here what Orsino has to say, and yet cannot say himself." her voice was very firm.

"As you wish."

~*~

Cesario entered the room cautiously, not knowing what to expect. She was greeted with the sight of two women sitting on a couch, and the man who had let her in. The women were both clothed in heavy black garb, and wore veils. The man stood imperiously behind the lady, acting as if the position was his right and his right alone. Cesario without great effort ignored him. She bowed slightly to the group.

"Which is the lady of the house?" she asked as she straightened.

"I will answer for her," The woman on the left replied.

Cesario studied the lady who had spoken. Out of question, while her clothes were as black as those worn by the other lady in the room, the speakers garments were considerably finer. Her lace veil was of a greater quality, and her manner in comparison to the other was more haughty, and it was clear that she was used to having her orders followed. Indeed, Cesario surmised, this was the Lady Olivia.

Upon further quiet examination, Cesario saw a kindred spirit in the other noblewoman. Both had lost everything in less than a year, though Olivia managed to keep her fortunes, station, and femininity. Despite their vast differences (for it is certain Olivia will never be caught dead with trousers on) they were still very much the same.

During this period of internal reflection, Cesario had withdrawn from her pocket the slip of paper the Duke had entrusted to her. Glancing at it for a brief moment, she nodded cheerfully to all the room's inhabitants before beginning.

"Most radiant, exquisite, unmatchable beauty..." she paused. "I must ask you to confirm whether or not you are truly the lady of the house, for I have never had the pleasure of making her acquaintance. I would be loath to unleash my speech upon a person it was not meant for, for my master to great pains to write it, and I took pains to study it."

In truth, Cesario was sure that it was indeed Olivia before her, but she wanted verbal conformation.

Olivia was surprised at the opacity of this young youth. First he had demanded entrance without so much as a by-your-leave, and now he was demanding her identity? Such a thing was unheard of, and terribly impolite. Though, it was true that she had already given him entrance even though she did not know him. They both had acted very strangely and in an improper manner today. If her father and brother were alive, oh the things they would say.

"From where do you come?"

"From the Duke Orsino, as I have already told you, lady. Good gentle one, give me assurance that you are the lady of the house and I shall proceed in my speech. Or tell me that you are not, and bring me the lady of the house so that I may tell it to her." Cesario's tone was slightly teasing.

"Why, are you a comedian?" Olivia couldn't help but ask.

"No, my dear, I am not. I am but a servant." she paused, and her face grew melancholy. "I must admit though, I am not who I appear to be." Laughing bitterly she continues, "If you are the lady of the house, please tell me so now."

"Well," Olivia sniffed, oblivious to the state of her guest, "If I do not usurp myself, I am."

The lady was surprised to discover that she felt slightly relieved at confirming her identity, though she could not explain why.

"Very well," Cesario was saying, "I will continue on with my words of praise then, and show you the heart of my message."

"Please, leave out the praise," Olivia replied hastily, wanting to spare herself from another one of Orinoco's love letters, "And skip to the important parts."

"Oh dear," Cesario fretted, "I took a great pain to study it, and 'tees poetical."

"Look here," Olivia cried, "It is more likely feigned then poetical, so therefore do not speak it." Her tone grew reproachful. "I heard that you were saucy at my gates, and I allowed your appearance in this room to see your impertinence rather than to hear your speech. If you are as mad as I think you are, begone! But if you think you have reason, than I pray you, be brief in your speech so that this interlude may end."

Mariah rose from her seat next to her lady and moved over to the youth. "Will you hoist sail sir?" she asked. "Here lies your way."

Cesario stepped back, "Nay, fair shrew, I shall anchor here a little longer."

"Then speak your message and be gone!" The lady-in-waiting cried. "You are trying my lady's patience."

"It concerns your lady's ear alone, I'm afraid."

Olivia stood in a huff, her skirts twirling as she moved. Walking over to stand by the window, she placed a hand upon it and stood for a minute just looking out of it. It was clear to the three others present that she was upset, but no one dared to move.

"Leave us," she said suddenly, "So that I may hear this cursed speech and get this youth gone."

Seeing her mood, Malvolio and Mariah were quick to leave with little protest.

"You may tell me the heart of your speech, and leave. Where is your text?"

"It rests in two places. On this sheet of paper in my hand, and in Orsino's bosom."

"In his bosom?" Olivia cried, "Why, in what chapter of his bosom?"

"In the very first of his heart, I should think," was Cesario's reply.

"Oh, that chapter. Well, I have read it, and it is nothing but lies and heresy."

Cesario moved from where she was standing to a spot directly behind the Lady. She studied Olivia's profile, noting the heaviness that seemed to weigh on the girl. She was again reminded of their circumstances of grief, so similar in nature, and yet the events had taken both ladies to two very different places.

"Will you let me see your face?" the servant asked suddenly.

Olivia laughed out loud, something that she had not done in a long while. "Have you any order from your master to see my face?" she asked incredulously. "You have indeed stepped over many lines today, but this one takes the cake!"

Olivia seemed to consider something for a minute, before lifting her veil off and flinging it to the side.

"But we will draw the curtain and show you the picture." she turned to fully face the youth. "It's excellently done, is it not?"

"Indeed it is," Cesario replied, "That is, if God did all."

"He did." Her reply was short.

"Now, may I on with my speech?"

"Oh, confound that speech of yours! Orsino thinks that he loves me, but I do not love him, I cannot! I find myself questioning his sanity, for we have only met a handful of times, and have hardly ever spoken, and yet he is declaring his undying adoration from every mountain in Illyria! Your duke is a good person, a kind man, I will grant him that, but I cannot love him."

During her speech, Olivia had thrown her arms about animatedly, her face had adopted a slightly desperate expression, and her manner was one of sad acceptance. She sank into a chair, and a small tear flowed down her cheek.

"Whether or not you choose to believe it, I understand you. I know what you are enduring right now, and I am sorry for it." Cesario sat next to her, and offered her a pocket handkerchief to dry her eyes.

"And what's your story and parentage?" Olivia felt compelled to question.

"My story is much like yours, and my parentage is above my current fortunes, although I assure you lady that my state is well. I shall not trouble you again today with my master's love for you, and therefore take my leave of you." Cesario kissed the lady's hand, and exited.


End file.
